


shouldn't have done that

by aglassfullofhappiness (mehmehs)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Feral Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova is a Little Shit, Pre-Canon, Temporary Character Death, well he's extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehmehs/pseuds/aglassfullofhappiness
Summary: Shortly after they become YusufandNicolò, somebody comes for them.Just one possible snapshot of feral Nicky, back in the day - because that's what you do for your first immortal crush, isn't it?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 29
Kudos: 460





	shouldn't have done that

Shortly after they become YusufandNicolò, somebody comes for them.

They’re careful, but they’re still new to the whole undying justice thing, in the grand scheme of things. And they are still very much human, surrounded by other humans who feel wronged by them, by their deeds, and seek revenge.

They’re staying in a pretty little hotel in Cairo, with all the great luxuries of life: a room to themselves, good food and wine, and of course, each other. The night is beautifully clear, the moon half full, a soft breeze coming in through the window. All in all: a lovely night not to die. They’re settling into each other, figuring out how they fit, and right now Nicolò is curved beside him, Yusuf’s arm around his shoulder. His other arm has gone numb under Nicolò’s neck, but Yusuf is too relaxed to mind. He falls asleep to the rise and fall of Nicolò’s chest, steady under his hand.

Yusuf does not hear the assassin break into their room, or his steps against the floor. He does not hear the whisper of the knife unsheathing, just above their heads. The first thing Yusuf hears is the sudden snarl Nicolò makes as he tears himself out of Yusuf’s arms and tackles the intruder, shoulder driving into the man’s stomach.

Nicolò doesn’t have great leverage, but the man is evidently taken by surprise. They land in a mess of limbs and Yusuf can just see Nicolò in the dim light, grappling. The man grunts and manages to strike Nicolò’s neck, rolling to his feet as Nicolò rears back.

Yusuf is on his feet now too, but his brain is fogged, whether by sleep or adrenaline he cannot tell, only knows to lash out and duck as the man comes for him, swinging. The man is armed; Yusuf is not. He feels his arm tear open as he blocks and he cries out, staggering, and sees the knife, long and wicked, coming for his stomach. He has a split second to prepare –

But the blow never lands.

Instead, Nicolò is there, framed in front of him. Yusuf hears the breath leave Nicolò in one sickening gasp as the knife drives through his torso, only partway in but more than enough. The assassin grins, a flash of white in the dark, and goes to yank out the knife, eyes already turning to Yusuf.

Nicolò makes a noise, deep in his throat, and his hands clamp down over the man’s, locking them around the hilt. The man tries to pull back, and Nicolò – Nicolò takes a slow, deliberate step forwards, _deeper into the knife_. The man’s eyes widen, but Nicolò has him in a vice grip, grotesquely connected, almost nose to nose.

Nicolò looks at the man then as if he were a misbehaving child, rather than an assassin with a knife halfway through him. He says, calm and chiding,

“You shouldn’t have done that,” and rips the man’s throat open with his own dagger.

Blood sprays, startlingly red even in the dim light, and the man dies with a horrific gurgle, wet and choked and terrified. Nicolò watches him fall, head tilted, before raising both hands and pulling the knife out of his own body, a disgusting squelch of a sound that no one should have to hear and keep living after. Yusuf catches him as he crumples, the familiar wave of fear and horror and agony flooding over him, even as he tries to remain vigilant for more assailants.

His hands find the wound and press down, unbidden. Even after hundreds of years, the instinct to try and save a dying figure, no matter how futile, remains ingrained. Nicolò’s blood burns Yusuf’s hands as his heart continues to beat it out of him, doing its job even as the body it inhabits bleeds out.

Nicolò’s hands come up and cover Yusuf’s, easing them off him. It is only when Nicolò touches his cheek that Yusuf realises he’s saying “No, Nicolò, please _,_ stay with me, _please_ ,” over and over, nonsensical and desperate; another habit he has not kicked across the centuries.

“I’ll come back to you,” Nicolò says, even as blood fills his mouth. “You know I’ll come back to you –”

Yusuf cradles him as he dies, and he feels it, every time, as if it were the last, and then fear of it _really being the last_ chokes him, in the minutes, seconds that Nicolò remains dead.

Finally, finally, Nicolò draws a sharp breath, and then promptly turns and coughs up an unholy amount of blood.

“Sorry,” he says after, grimacing. “The rug is ruined.”

Yusuf isn’t sure if he wants to kiss him and or kill him again.

“ _Nicolò,”_ he says, gripping Nicolò’s shoulders, “you crazy, stupid, dramatic son of a bitch –”

“Hey,” Nicolò says, crossing his arms over his newly healed torso. “I just got stabbed for you.”

“Yes, exactly,” Yusuf says, voice rising, “you just _got stabbed_ , Nicolò, for no reason –”

“It wasn’t for no reason, you idiot,” Nicolò says, sitting up and almost banging their heads together. “He was going right for you –”

“Yes, and you should have _let him_ ,” Yusuf says, and Nicolò’s mouth snaps shut at that. “You should have let him and I would have been fine, Nicolò. I would have been fine.”

Nicolò stares at him, the moon reflecting in his eyes. They’re silent for a long moment, before Nicolò raises his fingers to the corner of Yusuf’s eye, and Yusuf realises there are tears there, ready to fall.

“I could never do that,” Nicolò says, voice soft now in the darkness between them, and Yusuf feels, as he often does, as if they’re the only two on Earth, hushed together in the vast expanse. “I’m sorry, Yusuf, but – I could never.”

“And I can’t keep watching you die,” Yusuf says, even though he knows that he will have to, for as long as they both shall live.

Nicolò kisses him then, but it’s a gentle press of lips against his cheek, mindful of the blood that still lingers in his mouth. Yusuf grips Nicolò’s hands and feels the duality in his fingers, able to touch Yusuf with such reverence, and rip a man’s throat open with such ease.

He loves him.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> I remember this scene falling out of my head as soon as someone first said 'feral nicky' to me, and just re-found it in my wips. Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> All feedback welcome :)


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